


It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, M/M, Names, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Peter wants to know about Endeavour. The name, that is, and why Morse doesn't use it.
Relationships: Peter Jakes & Endeavour Morse, Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from me googling "name quote" :P It's W.C. Fields, an American comedian and actor.

"How come you never tell anyone your name?"

Morse fixes him with an incredulous look, and takes a dismissive slurp of his beer. Peter kicks his ankle in retaliation. Or maybe because the only acceptable form of touch between them in the middle of a pub is jokey anger, and he'll take any excuse he can get.

"I mean it."

"You do know my first name, right?"

It's an honest question. They might be – whatever they are; something halfway between friends and more, something that hides in corners and shadows but every now and then feels so true, so right, that it spills out like sand through fingers – but Morse has still never actually _told_ Peter. 

"Yep." He places his pint on the table, a smile that refuses to be stifled playing on his lips. "Endeavour," he adds, because he can, and gets a glare for his trouble. It just makes the smile grow further, unable to dim it down no matter how he tries. "It's not that bad," he insists.

"Coming from the Peter in the room."

"Ah, there were four Peters in my class alone." His brain flashes on his years as Little Pete, and he shoves it back down. "At least you'd've known who the teacher meant." Morse shrugs, and Peter rips open a bag of crisps, leaving the packet slightly nearer Morse rather than right in the middle. As expected, his fingers drift to it almost without direction, and he starts eating. "It's a Quaker name, right? What are they called?"

"Called?"

"Yeah, like names that mean something -"

"Oh, virtue names."

He hums a little. Never knew much about Quakerism, he was bog standard CofE if he was anything at all. "You really hate it? Endeavour?" Morse is silent for a while, picking at his fingernails, but Peter has all night, and now he's raised the subject he kind of wants to know. He waits him out.

"My mother gave it to me. But otherwise? Yes. It's an iron collar, a name like that. As soon as you say it, people change. They think they know something about you – something no one would ever assume with a Dave, or a Charlie."

"Or a Peter."

Morse quirks his lips in a sideways smile. "Or a Peter."

"Could be worse," Peter says, and Morse scoffs and shakes his head, but Peter is warming to his theme. Yes, he thought 'Endeavour' was ridiculous, stupidly pretentious, first time he heard it, but now? "It sort of suits you. One who tries. Going by how you never give up on bloody anything."

"Hmm."

"'Sides, there's some other nice ones. Charity, Hope, Faith."

"Consider also: Prudence, Temperance, Chastity. But also all female."

"You should think yourself lucky then. Male virtue names... lets see...” he can see Morse smirking, and it bolsters him to push on regardless of his ignorance. “Could have been Courage," he says finally, with a teasing smile at Courage Morse sat across from him. It's not inaccurate to his nature, but it's definitely worse.

"I don't think that's a name-"

"Or Stalwartness. Resolution - that one would fit well. Assistance Morse." Morse laughs, free and bright, and it's unusual enough that Peter double takes, grin spreading at the sound. Pride curls warm within his stomach. "Confidence Morse."

"Judiciousness Morse."

"Quite the stumper for poor little four year old Morse, writing his name on his homework."

"No wonder he goes by just Morse."

"Just Morse. Short for Justice?"

Morse kicks him, but his face is still open and happy, and he leaves his foot where it lands so they tangle together in the table's shadow, warmth bleeding through trouser legs. "Fine. It's not that bad."

"So, can I call you Endeavour?"

Morse studies him. It feels like that gaze always does when it focuses on him - slightly uncomfortable, slightly invasive, but with the understanding that if anyone is going to know all of his secrets, he could do worse. "Do you want to?"

It would be his, he realises, with a sharp stab of something in his chest. Thursday probably knows it, and Bright must do too, but neither of them venture into first name territory even when invited, let alone when a trespass would earn them a sharp tongued retort. No one else uses it, not now Morse's mum is gone - apart from maybe that sister who kicks around somewhere up North and seems to exist only in Christmas cards. He thinks of the curl of secret letters on his tongue.

"Nah," he says eventually. He thinks he's made the right choice by the way Morse loosens, relaxing back in his chair. "You're too much Morse for me to change now."

“Too-Much Morse,” he echoes quietly.

Peter swallows, the atmosphere suddenly thick and heavy. It's too honest, for what they are, but he can't help himself: “No. Never.”

Morse nods once, short and sharp, and sinks his head to stare into the pools of condensation littering the table, fingertip tracing patterns in the liquid. After a beat, he smiles softly up at Peter and points to their empty glasses. "Another?"

The odd moment dissolves in Morse's smile, and Peter nudges his legs against Morse's, trapped between him and the table. It'll meant letting go, but he'll just have to capture him again when Morse gets back from the bar. Peter grins. "Sure."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this tiny little ficlet :) The idea was saved in my phone as 'Harsh courage', because apparently 'Jarse' autocorrects to 'harsh'...!


End file.
